I May Be Old Fashioned, But I

A Quiet City Is A Contradiction In Terms. It Is A Thing Uncanny, Spectral.

I Believe The Twenty-four Hour Day Has Come To Stay.

Nobody Ever Died Of Laughter.

What A Lurid Life Oscar Wilde Does Lead - So Full Of Extraordinary Incidents. What A Chance For The Memoir Writers Of The Next Century

For A Young Man, Sleep Is A Sure Solvent Of Distress. There Whirls Not For Him In The Night Any So Hideous Phantasmagoria As Will Not Become, In The Clarity Of The Next Morning, A Spruce Procession For Him To Lead. Brief The Vague Horror Of His Awakening; Memory Sweeps Back To Him, And He Sees Nothing Dreadful After All. "why Not?" Is The Sun's Bright Message To Him, And "why Not Indeed?" His Answer.